


Stretched Taut to Breaking

by bellezza



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Historical, Nyotalia, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellezza/pseuds/bellezza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romana comforts Veneziana. A snapshot from the Years of Lead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stretched Taut to Breaking

She finds her sister in her studio, the verandah doors flung open to let in the air and the summer sunshine. A breeze picks up, catching the white lace curtains and setting them to dancing. The studio faces the north so it isn't struck by direct sunlight morning or evening, and also so her sister can look towards her heartland.

Veneziana is curled up on the couch in a patch of sunlight. Romana goes to her, and though her eyes are dry, when she takes her in her arms her sister buries her face against her shoulder. Her hair hangs loose and wavy around her shoulders, soft and warm from the sun; Romana works her fingers through it gently, easing out the snarls. Such lovely hair.

"Nobody cares," Veneziana moans, voice muffled by fabric and flesh. "None of them gives a fucking damn about this country."

There it is then, the quiet sob, a dampness seeping through the weave of her blouse, and normally she might care but it's a fucking stupid thing to give a damn about right now. There's a rage in Romana, deep and coiled tight and it flares with every shudder that courses through the body in her arms, but she damps it down. Instead she strokes her hand along her sister's back, gentle comforting pressure, and hums in her ear.  _shhh, cara, shhh._

Eventually Veneziana pulls back. Her eyes are dry, but rimmed in red. The weariness in her face twists Romana's heart: this shouldn't be Veneziana's to deal with, it should not be her suffering to endure. She remembers the girl who had thrown herself into her sister's arms over a hundred years ago, laughing and crying and alight with promise because she was fulfilling a dream. But she is no longer crying, and she is certainly not laughing now. In her eyes is a familiar fury, familiar because it resemble's Romana's own.

"We'll find the bastards who did this, I swear it," she says, gripping Romana's hands tight. "We'll make them sorry."  And somehow more than the tears, this is what hurts.


End file.
